


bad idea!

by mayhem_olympia



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Songfic, bad idea! (girl in red), enemies to lovers?, implied nsfw, sherlock has a tricky decision to make
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 00:20:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29462667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayhem_olympia/pseuds/mayhem_olympia
Summary: On a whim, Sherlock dials the one number he knows he should have deleted long ago. He never expected for it to end up like this. After all, dead men don't usually pick up the phone.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/James Moriarty, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Kudos: 2





	bad idea!

_**Was such a bad idea, calling you up** _

Sherlock was BORED. No cases for months. John... wasn't speaking to him. And somehow he needed to get him back. Mycroft had helped, in a way. Sherlock paused what he was doing, remembering. He had asked Mycroft for the most challenging case ever. Partly because of Mary's advice. Partly because he really needed something to distract himself from the dull ache of missing John. And partly because of his own plan, a combination of both. Mycroft's exact words? "The last case we've had on the magnitude of what I suspect you want was several years ago, and his name was James Moriarty."

_**Was such a bad idea 'cause now I'm even more lost** _

And Sherlock had remembered that he still had Moriarty's phone number saved into his contacts. Not that he expected it to work, of course. Dialling tone. It wouldn't work. "Hello? Oh, Sherlock! Haven't heard from you in a while. What took you so long?"

"The game's back on. I'll find you. Wherever you are."

It didn't take long. It was almost as if James Moriarty had wanted to be found. Almost as if he knew what Sherlock's plan was.

_**Was such a bad idea to think you were the one** _

The next morning. When Sherlock woke up, Moriarty was gone, and all that remained was a note on the pillow. He picked it up and read it.

"That was quite a surprise, yesterday. Finally over the idiot you hang around with? He's not good enough for you, darling. I knew this day would come eventually. Anyway, I'm off to do evil things. No, don't ask what evil things. That would spoil the surprise. I bet you can't stop me. Oh, and don't think that this changes anything. If you didn't get enough buzz from yesterday, the game really is back on. You should find a book on the bedside table. Couple of clues in there if you want to find me for a repeat, darling."

_**Was such a bad idea 'cause now everything's wrong** _

Sherlock spent too much time deciphering the code, trying to find Moriarty's next hiding spot. Codes had never been his strongest talent. At three in the afternoon, the alarm clock on the table started flashing bright red. A message started playing, and Sherlock wondered for a moment how Moriarty had managed to set that up.

"Sherlock, if you're hearing this, you're too late, and I'm so glad that my distraction tactic worked. The clue is actually in the book on the pillow, which you ignored because you thought I would never be that obvious. Anyway, since you spent all that time trying to work it out, I daresay I'll be seeing you later. And don't worry. The real clue isn't very difficult. I do want you to find me, after all, darling."

The real clue was too easy. It was hardly a clue. Just a simple note. "Waldorf Hilton, darling."

_**You pushed me up against the wall, threw my clothes down on the floor** _

When Sherlock had found out what Moriarty had done to Nelson's Column, he honestly hadn't known what to say. Luckily he didn't need to say anything. To the average passer-by, the column now had the word "FOREVER" spray-painted across the front. To anyone observant, the letters S, H, J and M were painted on the base. S.H. and J.M. forever. Moriarty couldn't have been less subtle.

He had been desperately eager for Sherlock's approval on his vandalism. And then he had switched over, instantly, as soon as it became clear that Sherlock did not simply dole out praise. Rough. Almost violent, but strangely gentle at the same time.

Was this what love felt like? Sherlock had started this, whatever this was, to get John back. As a friend, and maybe even more. He hadn't expected to enjoy it.

_**Darling, are you ready for more?** _

The next day, Sherlock was even more determined to catch Moriarty committing whatever crime he had planned. Even if it was another grand romantic gesture. No, especially if it was another grand romantic gesture. He couldn't risk actually falling for his nemesis. That sort of thing only happened in books.

But it wasn't easy to focus. Not after the first text message Moriarty sent him. There had been no note, no clues that morning. Just a message that had pinged in a moment or two after Sherlock had woken up. "Good morning, darling. I hope you dreamt of me."

_**It was a bad idea, calling you up** _

_**Was such a bad idea, I'm totally fucked** _

Sherlock could feel his heart pounding as he read the message. Fear? Or something else - something much worse to contemplate? He decided to play along. For better or for worse, this was happening. And there wasn't anything Sherlock could do to stop it. He replied. "Of course I did. And wouldn't you like to know what you were doing..."

"I think I could take a fair guess."

"I daresay you could."

"And I'll give you more material for your dreams the next time I see you. Speaking of, darling, you're running late. I've already started to set up."

Sherlock ignored the last part. "I hope you will."

"Tell me exactly what you want right now."

Sherlock thought for a moment, but there was only really one obvious response. "You."

_**It was a bad idea to think I could stop** _

_**Was such a bad idea, I can't get enough** _

The texts didn't stop. Sherlock was trying to focus on thwarting Moriarty's plan. It wasn't easy. The texts were very distracting. No. Moriarty was very distracting. That was what it was. The same texts coming from anyone else - he banished the thought of John sending him those messages, John wanting him the way Moriarty did - the same texts coming from anyone else would not, he was quite certain, have the same effect on him.

He was fairly sure that that was the point of the texts. To distract him. But it all seemed so genuine. Maybe that was just a trick. Or maybe Moriarty really did want him. Maybe his plan had worked... Just not the way he had thought it would.

_**It was a bad idea meeting you so late** _

Three weeks later. Every day had been more or less the same. Cases had started coming in. All Moriarty's handiwork, of course. And at the same time as Sherlock was pretending that Moriarty was his worst enemy, that he wanted nothing more than to see the criminal dead or incarcerated, he was exchanging those texts, those horribly distracting texts, with the very man he was supposed to detest.

And every night, they would meet in a different hotel, and Moriarty would fulfil Sherlock's wildest dreams. Except one. The one he had started this whole plan for.

John Watson.

And then one night, Sherlock and Moriarty ran into each other in an alley. Both on the way to the next hotel. Neither expecting to see the other before then. Moriarty's hair was tousled from a day of running around the city causing mayhem, and it took all of Sherlock's willpower to hold back. And Moriarty had an idea.

Sherlock should have known that Moriarty having an idea was rarely good news.

"I was thinking, darling. Why don't we go home?"

Sherlock knew instantly what he meant. 221B Baker Street.

_**Was such a bad idea 'cause I can't think straight** _

"Yes."

_**It was a bad idea to bring you back home** _

They slipped into the flat in the early hours of the morning, and fell asleep intertwined with each other.

They were woken by the front door opening. Someone stepped into the flat as the door slammed behind whoever it was. And somehow Sherlock knew exactly who it was.

"Hello? Anyone home? Sherlock? Mrs Hudson?"

John Watson.

Sherlock grabbed a dressing gown and put it on, stepping out into the hallway. "Yes, I'm home."

John wandered down the corridor to where Sherlock was standing. Sherlock was panicking.

"Look, Sherlock, I've been doing some thinking and I realized a couple of things. Firstly, I- I shouldn't have been so angry with you. It wasn't your fault. And there was something else, something I've sort of known for years but I've never told you and I think I should tell you now. Sherlock... I love you."

No no no no no no no no NO. This couldn't be happening, could it?

Moriarty had heard. But he pretended he hadn't, rolling over and yawning as if he'd just woken up. "Sherlock, love, what's going on? Come back to bed, darling."

**_Was such a bad idea, I need to be alone_ **

John's face crumpled as he turned his back and walked away. Sherlock was torn. But he knew deep down that John had been there for him long before Moriarty had. He rushed down the corridor to catch up with him.

"John, I- it's not how it looks. I promise."

"It's not?"

"No."

"So you love me more than you love him?"

John knew he was being petty and childish. But he needed to know.

_**It was a bad idea, calling you up** _

_**Was such a bad idea, I'm totally fucked** _

Sherlock was having a hard time answering the question. He could have just said yes, and left it at that. John would have been his, and he would have been John's. Just like he had wanted for years. That was why he had started this whole thing with Moriarty. To put himself in danger so John would rescue him. But it hasn't worked out like that.

The three weeks he'd spent with Moriarty had been the best and most exhilarating of his life.

"Well? Who do you choose? Me or him?"

_**It was a bad idea to think I could stop** _

_**Was such a bad idea, I can't get enough** _

"Moriarty..."

_**You pushed me up against my wall, threw my clothes down on the floor** _

John walked out of the door. Sherlock heard him drive away as he walked back. Back to Moriarty. He was half sitting up, leaning on the pillow, a silent question in his eyes.

Sherlock lay back down. "I chose you. Of course I chose you."

_**Darling, are you ready for more?** _

"I'll always choose you."


End file.
